


A Luxury That Can't Be

by Metal_Gear_XANA



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bittersweet, CF/VV Route, Edelclaude Week, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, McDonalds Route, Not quite but it is something on their minds, One-Shot, Orange Route, Post-Timeskip, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25330300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metal_Gear_XANA/pseuds/Metal_Gear_XANA
Summary: Edelclaude Week, Day 5 + 6: Trust and Touch.Edelgard suppresses her agony to tend to herself in private. Claude, in which Edelgard received the injury from rescuing him, feels compelled to attend to her wound. But Edelgard does not trust him, even if they have a temporary partnership to take down the Church and TWSitD. Trusting Claude, let alone allow him to treat her, is a foolish mistake.Yet perhaps it isn't.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41
Collections: Edelclaude Week





	A Luxury That Can't Be

**A/N: This took longer than anticipated; hence, this has not been edited, as I am exhausted. I decided to combine Day5/6, and I came up with this idea to go with it!**

* * *

Edelgard is not one to express pain.

She has learnt over the years to suppress agony. As someone whose body is strained by harbouring two Crests she has grown used to the symptoms associated with them. If by any chance she is in agony then Hubert is there to secretly tend to her, before anyone could catch a glimpse of the seemingly impassive emperor in pain. The emperor is meant to inspire others, not have them doubt their ruler’s strengths and abilities. Even if she weren’t the emperor she would not wish to worry or burden her friends or companions with her ailments. Pity is the last thing she wants.

Unfortunately Hubert is away to tend with jingoist nobles uprising against her cause in Enbarr. To add to those misfortunes the Alliance sovereign, Claude von Riegan, witnessed her take a blow for him, and thus feels compelled to treat her injuries. Naturally she turned down the man’s offer, not without getting into a trivial fight, and sits in the comfort of her tent to tend to herself. Perhaps she is being ‘pig-headed’, as Claude had the gall to call her in front of her army. But that man is not to be trusted. Like the deer he is associated with he may hightail when he pleases, or faux innocence when being more than capable of piercing her with his ‘antlers’-a hidden blade. They may have agreed to work together to overthrow the Church and eliminate the secretive Agarthans, and thus abandoned her ties with TWSitD, but that gives her no incentive to cosy up to him. Once they achieve their joint goal they will then resume the war against each other.

Edelgard, nor Claude, have the luxury to trust each other.

She hears the flap of the tent’s entrance move aside, followed by protests from her posted guards calling out to the person waltzing in.

“Sorry, but this issue is between two partnered rulers,” that voice… it really was only a matter of time before he came in… “Off you go~!”

Edelgard growls through clenched teeth at the nerve of Claude. It would be futile to kick him out without causing a scene to infect the camp. In the very least she hasn’t divested her clothes, so modesty is no issue.

Without turning from her crossed-legged position she orders, “Leave us.”

The guards no doubt bowed to her once they bid their majesty farewell. Now she is left alone with the sketchiest and most enigmatic man in all of Fódlan. Somehow she can sense his smug grin. Her fists clench against her knees. Her brows furrow cantankerously as she continues to have her back to him. Perhaps she is being moronic, allowing her back to face him, clad in just her formal regalia and not gold armour, practically begging him to lunge and finish her off. Yet she is no easy target; it will take a lot to kill her.

Claude comes into her peripheral vision, acting happy-go-lucky with his hands behind his head and that devilish grin on his face. “Allowed me entry! To what do I owe the occasion, your Majesty?”

Petty words won’t cause her to dander so easily. Lilac eyes coolly regard him as he moved in front of her. “You would have fought back and caused a scene. This is meant to be a war camp not some squabbling children play area.”

“If causing a stir-up would allow someone to treat you then I wouldn’t worry about wounding my manly pride,” Claude states, his smile crooked, a look of his that she has learnt to interpret as him being solemn in the face of adversity. “Your Strike Force friends are too busy tending to the villagers' needs.”

Edelgard dubiously cocks her eyebrows at him. “And I suppose you expect me to allow you to see me exposed and be treated by your hands? You did have a knack for creating poisons back during the academy days.”

“Poisoning or eliminating you now won’t benefit my goals,” Claude reminds her, his smile fading as he grows more austere. “I need you alive and well if the Empire is going to work with the Alliance.”

She is aware of this. Truly she is, but this is Claude: the conniving man, with a tongue that can be described as golden, embodiment of honey that attracts people to him with his charisma.

“I am more than capable of treating my injuries,” she informs him, albeit too defensively for her likening.

“On your back?” She shuts her mouth into a purse line. He does have a point… “I doubt even the most flexible of people can treat a gash on their back.”

“I can wait for Hubert—”

“By that time your wound would have worsen, grown infected even, and slow you down when we continue our course,” Claude interrupts with a deadpan expression. He is growing tired of this. “You’re being the childish one here, Edelgard. For someone perceived as rational, you really are being childish.”

His words cut deeper than the lance that bestowed the gash upon her back. She bites her lips, unable to fight back against this battle: she is caught in a current; the further she struggles against the more worse her position becomes. He raises valuable points that she cannot brush aside. Even with the healing properties of her two Crests she won’t be in top condition to battle against the Church. To soldier on in her sorry condition would lower morale in her army, and place her in a dangerous position in which she most likely will be killed. If one of her friends or soldiers were injured like she is she would demand for them to be treated immediately and effectively. She must be treated now.

…But by the hands of Claude…?

The very man crouched to be at her level. There is a solemn glint in his emerald eyes, an understanding and knowingness that leaves her waiting patiently for what he has to say. His lips are pursed as he drops the façade of the devil-may-care leader.

“Listen, I know I am not the most trust worthy guy, and you have every reason to second guess my actions, but you need to be treated,” he states with severity that is almost crushing. His brows soften. “You saved my life, so please… allow me to repay the favour.”

Edelgard tries to muster a stoic expression before him. Yet alas she finds her resolve weakening before him. Her contorted facial muscles lessen and she finds herself lightly gaping at him. The sincerity and solicitous concern in his tone is so unexpected that she is left speechless and puzzled. What did she do to deserve such genuineness from Claude? Kindness from others is… it is something that she can’t come to terms with. She doesn’t deserve it from anyone, especially not from an enemy. Yet he isn’t the enemy right now. He is her partner.

With a sigh she wordlessly concedes defeat. Claude lights up and then asks if he may divest her. Fear and self-abhorrence ignite in Edelgard as she thinks about being exposed, having her scar diseased blemish skin on display. Different scenarios play in her head as to how Claude will react to her body: utmost horror, mortified sickness, haughty delight, and so forth. How pitiful that she still feels self-conscious and afraid to expose herself after all these years.

Yet somehow she finds the courage and utters ‘yes’. Claude circles around her back where he then carefully takes off her cloak. From the corner of her eye she sees him neatly fold the mighty cloak and place it aside. How strangely… kind of him. She grits her teeth at the image of him scrutinising the scars on her heart-shaped back cut out. Cumbersome ancestors believing that having a cut-out on the emperor’s regalia is meant to symbolise them having humanity.

But he just unbuttons the dress, as nonchalantly as Hubert or any maid. Once done he circles back in front of her, and then assists her with taking off her boots. She was about to insist that he needn’t do so, only to then think it would be a quicker process if she focuses on taking off her armoured arm wear whilst he’s handling the boots. With the arms and legs handled she then wiggles and divests the dress. Placing it aside she briefly shuts her eyes tightly and then, mustering the courage, she looks at Claude with trenchant eyes.

He simply scans her body with blinking eyes. Every faded scar appears to be observed by his watchful gaze, and she finds herself feeling meek before him. Yet she maintains her genteel gaze, her lips pursing to form a deep chasm against her mouth, seemingly daring him to look at her with disgust, pity, or sadistic delight. Make some terrible joke, goad her expose her traumatic past; she is waiting with burning humiliation and anger for him to say something.

“You’re stunning.”

…Did she hear that right?

Accursed cheeks turn red at the words. Claude seemed to just realise what he blurted out, and now has grown uncharacteristically bashful as he lets out a nervous laugh, darts his eyes away for a second, and rubs the back of his head. Now she feels self-conscious for a completely different reason.

“Surely you jest.”

Claude shakes his head. “Not at all,” he pauses, unsure if to say more, then, with pink dusting his cheeks: “I’d be the luckiest man to feel the muscles of a warrior such as you.”

What—How is she supposed to think and respond to his sincerity and blurted out honesty? She clears her throat, tilts her chin up, and internally curses the Goddess for making her entire face and ears burn out of control. Her arms cross over her chest (which probably unintentionally flexes her muscles to Claude—) and knits her brows.

“Will you treat my gash already?”

Claude splutters an affirmation as he goes to a nearby table to fetch some ointments and bandage rolls. Once the burning spell of her blushing fades she observes Claude as he gathers the materials. When he had all he needed he went behind her. She heard the floor shift when he sits down behind her. Her hearing then picks up him pouring liquid unto his palm, followed by rubbing his hands together.

“Is it alright if I touch you?” Claude inquires.

For a second she thought he was playing dumb. But then she recalled the times he witnessed her being jumpy when a friend hugged her or when someone accidentally brushed by her during the academy days. She really shouldn’t feel so touched by his consideration, especially since he is only acting so to win her trust, and yet—

“Yes, you may.” _Thank you for asking._

Tentatively he begins to rub the ointment into her gash. She hisses at the stinging sensation that courses through her. On reflex her hands dig into her crossed arms, her nails denting the skin of her scar-clad skin. He utters apologises here and there. His deft fingers, calloused from using bows, are surprisingly gentle as they caress her gash with the liquid. He treats her body with nothing but respect, as if he is restoring a statue with utmost love and awe.

“What fine back muscles you have,” Claude speaks in a whisper, adoring and with veneration. “Though that’s to be expected with you wielding mighty axes.”

Much to her surprise she snorts in dry amusement. More surprising is that she finds herself smiling with fondness. “You are quite the flatterer.”

He starts stitching the wound and she grumbles in pain, in which he mutters an apology and stops. She looks over her shoulder, her lilac eyes telling him that he can continue. Claude nods and resumes his work. He makes idle chat as he stitches: gossip about him wooing the emperor, whispers of how dashing he has become, and how he is truly content seeing the old Black Eagles well and good. Edelgard had expected to remain silent throughout the procedure, yet she engaged in the chatter with dry remarks and pleased answers. Initially she faced forward towards the table, as if it is a work of art that needs to be beheld, but then she found herself constantly looking over her shoulder to talk to him. Some of the things they spoke of grew serious, such as the future of Fódlan, how to rid the Church without vilifying religion, and so forth. The more they nattered the more Edelgard felt herself easing around Claude, and likewise the same for the sovereign.

He… surprisingly makes for good company.

“So do you find me dashing, Princess?” Claude asks with his charming award-winning grin.

That silly nickname… “My answer may go to your head, and distract that scheming mind of yours against our foes.”

“You basically said ‘yes’ without saying that word,” Claude remarks with a few chuckles. “It is wonderful to know that a fine lady such as you finds me dashing.”

It amazes Edelgard how many times she has chuckled or laughed because of Claude. She hasn’t been this whimsical in a long time. “Sounds as if you wish to court me.”

The tanned man applies the bandage wrap, mindful of her chest as he swirls it around her torso. “I most certainly would not complain, but alas we are not meant to be.”

They’re flirting.

This banter is on quite a dangerous line that will drown them if they pursue it further. Edelgard feels her body sag as she turns away to prevent herself from being pulled into this taboo. Claude is not to be trusted with her feelings and vulnerabilities. This is the limit. She mustn’t be swayed by his golden-tongue. There is no way she will pursue him to surrender the Alliance to her, thus he has no reason to grow attached to her. Neither have the luxury to trust each other.

With Claude done Edelgard stood up and went over to a mirror stand to regard the tended injury. It is professionally done, a clear indication that Claude has done this many times. To assume the man is a fool is a mistake that would cost anyone’s life. She turns to him and finds herself unsure of how to express herself. Saying ‘thank you’ should be enough…

“Your work is satisfactory,” is her remark instead. “You certainly know what you are doing.”

Claude simply smiles auspiciously and knowingly, and bows to her. “You’re welcome.” 

Edelgard opens her mouth to say something further, only for it to clamp shut. She mustn’t cosy up to him, or admit that she enjoyed his company. Instead she opts with a solemn nod and a dismissive wave of her hand. Without further exchange he leaves.

Trust is something too much to ask for Edelgard.


End file.
